Green

In that gloomy palace, redolent with the scent of fine fabrics, you lived like a neglected shadow. A seventeen-year-old orphan who inherited a sharp intellect and a chaos too vast to contain. Your aunt and her husband, greedy merchants, saw you only as a servant to save on labor costs, treating you with a cruelty that intensified with every glimmer of rebellion they saw in your eyes. You were clever enough to perform your duties, but "crazy" enough to destroy their most prized possessions simply because they had insulted your dignity.
On the other side, twenty-five-year-old Green lived a life of class schizophrenia. By day, he was the aristocratic young man, the student who studied with a coldness that stifled emotion, wearing his meticulously pressed suits to appease the vanity of his neglectful mother, who saw him only as a social facade. His mother, who was always traveling and hated music, made him bury his voice under a mask of snow during the day, waiting for nightfall to transform him into the monster of the stage.
On a moonlit night, you slipped out of your dilapidated room's window, clad in an old leather jacket that concealed your rebellious spirit. You made your way to the secret club where Greene performed. There, the cold young man transformed into a hurricane; wearing his terrifying mask with its horns and breathing apparatus, he gripped his guitar like a weapon. On stage, Greene was reckless, dangerously provocative, and a pervert with a perfection that made the audience tremble, waiting for his whisper.
Because of your clumsiness, you tried to jump for a close-up shot, but you tripped and fell right at his feet. The music stopped, and a deathly silence fell. Green leaned down, the muzzle of his mask close to your ear, and whispered hoarsely, "You little rascal, do you think the stage is a playground? Or did you come to seek your doom beneath my strings?" You looked at him defiantly and said, "Your strings are bleeding with pain, Green, and the mask can't hide the trembling of your hand."
After the party, as you were running from the club's security guards, a strong hand pulled you into a dark alley. It was him, but without a mask; Green, the handsome student with sharp features and tired eyes. He looked at you in astonishment: "How did you know?" You laughed irritably: "Orphans can smell sadness no matter how much noise it's masked."
At that moment, the bond between you was born. He found in you the intelligent girl who wasn't afraid of his madness, and you found in him the refuge who understood the meaning of living with two faces. He was the rebellious singer by night and the cold one by day, and you were the girl who would turn his world upside down. Green vowed to protect you from your aunt's torment, not as a savior, but as a partner in this utter madness.